


Deja

by adadshi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Realities, Animal Death, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Desert Ghosts, F/M, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, One Night Stands, One-Sided Keith/Lance (Voltron), POV Keith (Voltron), References to Religion, Season Eight Compliant, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adadshi/pseuds/adadshi
Summary: She wears a necklace of milk teeth and a hat woven with abandoned dreams. Her eyes are lined with the tears of the innocent, and her skin is embroidered with the gold of hearts. Her name is Deja, and I was never supposed to meet her."Son of Kogane." Her voice is honey sweet, and she reaches down to caress my cheek. Her hands are cold, "Your father's heart aches.""Please," My words come out choked and shaky, "bring me to him. Bring me home."-Abandoned after the war, Keith turns to a desert spirit to bring him home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: underage drinking and main character death.

The majority of my time as a teenager was spent dreaming of my time as a child. I'd sit with one arm resting on the windowsill, an unlit cigarette held between my index finger and thumb while looking out at the city. It was dull. It was grey. You couldn't see the sunset or the sunrise over the towering skyscrapers. I often imagined my father and called out to Athena and Éiteag and Krolia in quiet whispers.

 

Dad only told me about Deja when I was twelve years old, and we were sitting on the front porch of our home, staring at the horizon and the heat lines quivering above it. The desert was eternally hot in a way that didn't phase me. I was used to the sweat and awkward tan lines. We kept hydrated by drinking water collected from a pump a few miles away, and Dad would keep bottles of beer chilled in the refrigerator. That night, he turned a blind eye to my occasional sips. It meant the world to me. He was my hero, and it finally felt like I was on par with him.

 

"They say a spirit passes through these parts." He said after a long silence. From the dried herb sacks he kept in nooks and crannies and his unusual remedies to stomach aches, I knew he respected spirits in a way I struggled to understand. They were dead so what use were they? Dad recognised their wisdom and learned from them.

 

"A nice one?" I asked. He never told me about the evil ones, but I knew they were out there, crushing tumbleweeds and swallowing oases whole.

 

"Yeah. She collects lost souls and brings 'em home to their families." In his rough fingers, he fiddled with a stray twig.

 

"What's the catch?"

 

"The catch?" He turned so he could frown at me, "Thought I taught you not to question kindness." I shrugged and took a sip from the bottle. The beer was bitter and made my tongue writhe in my mouth. I loved it.

 

"No, it's just that I've started to notice things." I swallowed, "You go out to town for comics, and you're gone for two days. Jesus saves us, but he has to die. There's always a catch with good things."

 

He let out one of his breathy laughs and slung an arm around my shoulders, "I don't go into town just for your comic books, Tiger. And don't bring Jesus into this." He blessed himself quickly, and I did the same while knowing that I don't believe in Jesus as he did. Dad trusted in everything, from aliens to the Marfa lights and now Deja.

 

As the sun began to set upon the horizon line, the sky put on a fantastic light show as always. That night it was a mixture of red and oranges before eventually fading into a dark blue. It was always reassuring to know that, no matter what, the sun would rise again. There was always the promise of tomorrow. That's something Dad told me often and something I will never forget.

 

"Her name is Deja," He said quietly, eyes squinting at the setting sun, "and you will never meet her."

 

That comforted me more than the promise of tomorrow.

 

Dad was a broad, brooding man and his appearance lead to misunderstanding. On the days he left for comic books and to find work, women with strained smiles would knock on our door and ask me about abuse. I'd scream at them through the wood. The women were there after the fire, their smiles full of pity, and looked at each other in a way that said: "it would've happened eventually."

 

On the night of the fire, the sky turned red and grey with ash. It wasn't beautiful like the sunset, I decided as I laid on my back and coughed and cried. I watched firefighters and townsfolk pass by me, occasionally attempting to get me to talk, but I don't cooperate. As the firefighters began to trail back to their trucks, I got to my knees and started to scream. I screamed for Athena and Éiteag and Krolia and their names burned into desperate begging. I did not call for Deja. The skeleton of my little home and the six-foot-long thing covered by a white sheet taunted me.

 

My father died on October 24th, just before my thirteenth birthday. We never shared another beer after that one night. His funeral was quiet, the priest had no prayers for him, and his body was lowered into a sandy grave, marked only by a wooden cross I fashioned from the remains of our home.

 

I was taken to the city and put into the care of two women. Kara and Leah were kind to me and, although they tried, they knew they could never replace Dad. They encouraged me to attend a public school but understood that there were days where I couldn't bring myself to get out from underneath my bed. They didn't question why they would find dried herbs hidden in my pillowcase and never turned the fireplace on. We respected each other, but I could never love them the way I loved Dad.

 

I loved Shiro. It took time, at first I resented the man who followed the rules and did nothing but encouraged kids in my class to reach for the stars (and literally beyond), but the anger soon turned to confusion. He didn't call the cops when I stole his car, he didn't get mad, he just took me to a diner and bought me a hamburger. I didn't eat it.

 

"You don't strike me as a city boy." He said with a quirked eyebrow, "Tell me where you're from."

 

"Shonto." I lied.

 

He just rolled his eyes.

 

"Alright, I'll cut to the chase: the only reason I haven't called the cops on you is that you did incredibly well in the simulator, and I think you'd be a perfect candidate for the Galaxy Garrison. You have an interest in space?"

 

I hadn't thought about space, but I was a sun chaser, always basking in the glimpses of light and relishing the moments the city sky was any colour besides grey.

 

"It's in the desert if that will convince you," Shiro said before placing a twenty dollar bill down on the table and leaving. I watched through the window as he drove off and, once I returned home, I applied to the Galaxy Garrison online.

 

Krolia was a constellation come to life, according to Dad's stories. When she found a soul in need of protecting, she would materialise and shelter them from harm. I could never spot her sculpted face and strong brow in the stars as Dad could, but the story stuck with me. That night I called upon Krolia, asking her to protect me from the inevitable pain this new chapter of life would come with.

 

She didn't get the message.

 

The Garrison was a nightmare. If I wasn't being pushed into lockers or having paper planes aimed at my head, I was being yelled at by my superior officers. I thought that if I studied hard and aced my tests, show them what I'm made of, they'd stop picking on me. If anything, it got worse. So I retaliated. I punched back, I spat back, I snapped back. It resulted in worse treatment and more frequent yelling, but at least the name Keith Kogane meant something more than swat.

 

I enjoyed having my own room. There was a window looking directly out to the desert with nothing blocking the view and, after every overwhelming day (which was every day), I could retire there to be alone with my thoughts.

 

But Shiro wouldn't leave me alone.

 

He was like some kind of wannabe big brother, always asking if I needed help with homework or wanted to go bowling with him and his boyfriend. A part of me liked knowing he enjoyed having me around, but I knew I couldn't waste time with him.

 

Eventually, I caved in when he offered to take me out to the desert and teach me how to ride a hoverbike. On weekends, we'd pack our bags and set out at the crack of dawn in search of adventure. Unfortunately, this desert wasn't as exciting as mine, so Shiro took it upon himself to fill it with mystery. Often when I woke up late at night, I would find him filling glass bottles with torn parchment decorated with strange writing. The next day, we'd go hunting for treasure and find the bottles half-hidden in the sand. I kept them in my room back at the Garrison.

 

Shiro was the only one I could talk to about my dad. He understood in a way, his parents lived across the world in Japan, and he never gave advice. That was one of the things I didn't like about Kara and Leah. With them, it was appointments with child psychologists every Monday, and therapists on Thursdays. Shiro let me spill my darkest worries to him, and he'd just listen. At the Garrison, I only had to meet with my guidance counsellor once a semester, and that was only to discuss my grades. No one really cared about me, they just cared about my exam results. Shiro was different, and I grew to trust him.

 

He trusted me too. He trusted me enough to tell me about his illness, something only he and his boyfriend and the Garrison doctors knew about. It broke my heart to imagine him wilting away. It was selfish, but I hoped that he would be out of my life before he died and I wouldn't have to witness it as Adam would.

 

Adam wasn't on board with Shiro's plan to go to Kerberos. When I would go to their shared quarters to ask about homework, I would hear yelling through the front door.

 

"You'll die up there!"

 

"Better there than here, right? I don't want you to see me in such a weak state."

 

"I just want to take care of you, Takashi. Why wouldn't you let anyone help you?"

 

Their fights always ended in tears. I would return to my dorm without them knowing I was even there. Shiro didn't ask about how I felt about him leaving for a three-year-long mission to Kerberos, but I wanted him to go. He frequently told me that it was his dream to travel farther than anyone had before and Kerberos was pretty far from home. Adam was right, he would die, but he'd be surrounded by stars. That sounded like the perfect passing for a man like Shiro.

 

I still prayed for him. Every night, I knelt down by my bed and looked up at the starry night sky. I called for Krolia and begged her to keep Shiro safe. To bring him home. If there was anyone who could make a miracle happen, it was her. I was sure of it.

 

The launch was cheery for the Holt family as they celebrated how Matthew and Sam would soon be in space, but it was solemn for us. Shiro and Adam spent a long time just talking, holding their hands in front of them, and then hugging. Adam was crying, and he left after they kissed goodbye.

 

"Good luck out there," I said to Shiro. His smile was hopeful, but his eyes were tired.

 

"Stay out of trouble, alright?"

 

"I can't make any promises."

 

We hugged, and that was our goodbye.

 

Adam was the first person I saw after the formal announcement of Shiro's death. I pushed him up against the wall in the hall and screamed, "It wasn't pilot error, was it? They're lying!"

 

"Get off me." Behind his glasses, his eyes were glassy.

 

"He wouldn't let his crew down like that." I shook his shoulders wildly and flinched when he grabbed my arms and pulled them down to my side.

 

"Go speak with your guidance counsellor, Keith." His tone was uneven, "I can't help you." Fists shaking, I watched as he strode down the hall and away from me.

 

I decided to take his advice and speak to my guidance counsellor.

 

"I've been tracking the mission progress- they got to Kerberos a week ago! They weren't scheduled to fly for another two weeks, there was no reason why any of them would be piloting!" The guidance counsellor clearly wasn't impressed with me, but she kept quiet until I was finished.

 

"Keith," I remember how she had big pearl earrings in, "I'm going to recommend you go home for the weekend. Take some time to collect yourself and spend some time with your mothers."

 

As she called Kara and Leah and then the front office, I pulled at my hair until strands fell into my lap. The day's news was overwhelming enough, but now I was thinking about my dad. I wondered what he would do in this situation and why Krolia hadn't answered my prayers. She ignored me and now Shiro was dead.

 

Kara and Leah insisted that I stayed with them for the whole week and if this happened a week earlier, I would've fought against it. Now I had no motivation. I had no faith in Krolia, and I couldn't stop thinking about my burning desert home. I couldn't stop thinking about my father, his strong arms and bags of dried herbs and silver wind chimes and how he would call me Tiger. I missed being called Tiger.

 

I didn't get kicked out of the Garrison as everyone thinks. I took the bus to the compound, collected my personal items from my dorm, and formally handed my uniform and dorm key to the head of the freshmen, Commander Iverson.

 

"This is a shame, Kogane." He said with a sigh, "You have talent. If we could just get that temper under control, I'm sure you would've already been at the same rank as Shirogane." The mention of him made me clench my jaw. I had to remind myself that once I handed this in, I could get out and leave this horrible phase of my life behind me.

 

"Of course, now that he's gone-"

 

I punched Iverson in the eye and fled before he could call for security. My mad dash from the Garrison was a blur, all I can remember was the faces of my peers staring at me. Laughing at me. Jeering at me. Jeering at Shiro.

 

Somehow I made it back to Kara and Leah's place safely. They were alarmed by my frantic state, but I persuaded them not to take me out for an impromptu visit to my therapist. Instead, I went back to my room and began to unpack my things. I handled the glass bottles from our weekends in the desert with all the gentleness I could muster. I wanted nothing more to punch holes in the walls and to scream out of the window, but I knew that Kara and Leah didn't deserve that.

 

I spent a lot of time with them after that. The two of them worked from home, Kara being a freelance artist and Leah being an online tutor, so they were always around. Strangely, they encouraged my anger.

 

"If that's how you let your emotions out, then go ahead," Kara said, motioning to the new strike bag waiting for me in the living room. At first, I was hesitant and used it lightly just to keep in shape, but, after waking up from a particularly horrible dream one night, I went through to the living room and punched the bag until my knuckles bled. It was easy to get lost in the rhythmic back-and-forth movements when I imagined the bag was Iverson or a social worker.

 

"Holy crow, kid," Kara said when she came through early the next morning. She helped me patch myself up before Leah could see the blood and panic. She gave me twenty dollars and said, "Go out and buy yourself some gloves."

 

"And the rest?"

 

"Treat yourself."

 

Twenty dollars was enough for a pair of gloves, two sets of a buy-one-get-one-free deal in canned baked beans, a bottle of beer, and an all-day bus fare. I got on the bus at the city square and watched contently as the sun rose and the buildings disappear until there was nothing but sky. As the bus travelled on the rocky path to the Garrison compound, I shut my eyes and fell asleep with my head against the window.

 

Three boys in Garrison uniforms woke me up. I vaguely recognised them but not well enough to know their names.

 

"This is the last stop." The small one said, his voice squeaky but pushy at the same time. He dragged his two friends away while he whispered, "Is that really Keith Kogane? I guess Iverson was right, getting booted will turn us into bums." I frowned but didn't say anything. I just collected my bag and lugged myself out of the bus.

 

Completely ignoring the Garrison, I started to walk towards the horizon line. Although dunes were always shifting and sandstorms covered up any tracks, I knew the way home by heart. It was different from the desert surrounding the Garrison. There was something otherworldly about it. The moment my steps began to feel lighter, I knew I'd crossed into my territory. A short blow of wind welcomed me, sand swirled in circles around my ankles before falling flat, and I knew I was home.

 

I found the charred skeleton of my home with ease. It was a sad sight. No one had bothered to take away the abandoned furniture, not even the scavengers. It looked as if there had been activity here, though. The front door, barely hanging onto the house's frame, had colourful words sprayed on with colourful spray paint. I gritted my teeth as I trudged through the litter on the ground. This was a sacred place, not somewhere for Garrison daredevils to dwell.

 

This was the first time I'd been there since the fire, and the memory was still fresh in my mind. The place still smelled of smoke. Old milk bottles once with a ribbon tied around the rims and wildflowers arranged inside had been tipped onto their sides, and mud had dried into the glass. I did my best to clean them against my jeans and line them up the way my father would. I rummaged around in the debris and found a metal tin with a set of paints inside, an empty toolbox, and a dirty old knife,

 

The knife was caked in dirt and dust, but something drew me to it. I picked up the handle, and a shiver ran down my spine. A heavy feeling bloomed in my chest as I squinted at it. I rubbed the blade with the back of my hand and stared wide-eyed as the dirt fell away to reveal my silver reflection staring back at me. I'd never seen this knife before, and I was curious to learn more about it.

 

"Athena," I whispered with the knife clutched close to my chest, "enlighten me."

 

There was no immediate epiphany, but that was fine. Dad taught me to be patient. I could practically hear him say "not all of us can be as fast as you, Tiger" in his deep voice. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath in. I missed him.

 

I stayed out in the desert all day, sitting on the ruined porch and watching the sunset with my beer. I ate the baked beans cold from the can and didn't care for the chewy consistency. In the low light, the blade still shined brightly. Somehow it felt right in my hands.

 

I got the last bus to the city, and I found that Kara and Leah were waiting up on me. Leah scolded me for disappearing for so long but still made me hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows.

 

"I'm worried about you, Keith." She mumbled, "It's not like you to suddenly go on a day trip like that."

 

"It's not like you to leave at all." Kara was being playful, so I wasn't offended.

 

"Yeah, well I figured it was time to try move on and get on with life." The hot chocolate burned my tongue.

 

I watched as the two women exchanged careful looks. Leaning against the kitchen island, Leah reached across to grip my free hand. Her touches were always warm and calm, but they were never as grounding as my father's.

 

"I'm proud of you. Shiro wouldn't want you to be so sad." It hurt to hear her say his name, but she was right. Suddenly she smiled, "Hey, let's go out tomorrow. All three of us."

 

"The botanical gardens are opening up again tomorrow."

 

"Perfect."

 

Leah went to bed shortly after, leaving Kara to watch over me. She was different, she could see things and understood what I couldn't say.

 

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

 

I put the knife on the table and said, "I found this at my home yesterday. I think there's more for me in the desert than there is here."

 

She bit her lip and drummed her fingers against the counter, "I figured it was only a matter of time. You're not a city boy."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be."

 

"So," I took my knife back, "are you going to stop me from leaving?"

 

She was silent for a moment before saying, "No."

 

"No?"

 

She shrugged, "You're old enough to make your own decisions with this kind of thing. Maybe not in the eyes of the government, but you are to me. I'll drive you out there whenever you like."

 

"Tomorrow morning?" I winced. Her brow furrowed.

 

"Okay. Sure."

 

My last night spent there was one of confusion. I sat in my room, one hand out of the window with an unlit cigarette as I contemplated why Kara was so relaxed with my decision. No one else would trust a sixteen-year-old boy to do something like this. I wondered if it had to do with her past, something she spoke little of.

 

I could only hope that Leah would be alright and understand that this wasn't her fault. She was nothing but kind to me, and I left her. I don't know why I disappeared without saying goodbye to her.

 

I didn't allow Kara to drive me home. I had her stop just outside the desert where the road to the Garrison ended.

 

"Well," She said and handed me my bag, "if you ever need anything, you're always welcome back. Stay safe."

 

"You too."

 

I never saw her again after that morning. I watched her drive away in her little car, orange sand billowing around the tyre.s After that it was silent. It was silent for a very long time.

 

In the months I spent as a hermit, I lived in my father's old shack he used as a workshop. It was a small building untouched by the fire but in desperate need of refurbishment. The old hoverbike and tools were moved outside, and the old couch from my home replaced them. I stuffed the flimsy parts with crinkled newspaper and oil rags before sealing up the holes. It wasn't the same as I remembered, but at least I had a place to sleep at the end of my long days. I learned how to make clocks and radios. The radio would only tune into stations across seas, but I didn't mind. Hearing another voice was enough.

 

I spent a lot of time exploring. It was strange to revisit familiar places without Dad around, but I tried not to think of him. I tried not to think of Shiro when I saw glass bottles poking out from the sand, but I always checked for messages.

 

Some days I would pack a bag, sling it over my shoulder and just walk, going wherever my feet took me. I followed the eagles that soared overhead and the coyotes that travelled in search of water. I never met anyone, not a spirit nor a human. The signs of life were rare.

 

Until I found the cave.

 

Any other person would have missed it, but I knew this land, and I knew when something wasn't right. No one else would understand that boulder stones don't just stack up like that, not naturally. Getting down the canyon was tricky work, it was uncharted territory I was never allowed to explore, but I made it down with only a few cuts and bruises. The boulders were bigger than I thought, but I managed to get the highest stones down smoothly because they were smaller. My main problem was the bottom one, which was bigger and broader than the rest. It was taller than me, meaning I couldn't see over it. But I could climb over it. Finding grooves for my feet and fingers was an easy task, and soon I was sliding through the thin gap between the top of the boulder and the top of the mouth of the cave.

 

The cave couldn't have been made naturally. As I ran my fingers across the walls, I felt out grooves and, after the moss was rubbed away, hundreds of cryptic symbols carved into the stone were revealed. I couldn't understand them, but I knew they were important. They weren't meant for a nobody like me, yet I still kept them as my secret. Athena had blessed me with knowledge I was unwilling to share.

 

Over the next few days, I worked at chipping the front boulder away into much smaller rocks to provide me easier passage into the cave. Then I dragged buckets of water inside and, after clearing the walls of moss, threw the water at the carvings. I scrubbed them furiously, hoping that it would reveal their secrets. Nothing ever happened. I took photos of each and every one of the symbols and, on the days where Éiteag worked up a sandstorm, I studied them from the shack.I pinned them to a cork board and began to piece together information. I took to Dad's old books in the hope that they would provide answers. I studied maps of the land meticulously, I lost sleep over the cave markings, but I couldn't come to any conclusions.

 

I passed out one day. I'd gone too long without sleep and water, so my body shut down. I couldn't tell how long I was out for, which seriously interfered with my keeping track of the days, but I realised that this mystery was taking over my life. It was time for a break.I grabbed my last beer from the miniature refrigerator and went to my home's wrecked porch.

 

Then I saw the meteor. Or what I thought was a meteor. After setting off a couple of homemade bombs and punching through a dozen of my old Garrison teachers, I found that Krolia had returned Shiro to me. One of his arms had been replaced with a cyborg-prosthetic, his fringe had turned white, and a trio of Garrison cadets I only vaguely recognised claimed to be rescuing him, but it was Krolia who returned him to me. After a frantic escape, I apologised and prayed to Krolia while Shiro slept on my couch.

 

"Jeez, what happened to that place?" The loud one- Lance- interrupted my prayers. I looked up and found that he was peering out the window to look at the skeleton of my home.

 

"There was a fire, obviously." The little one said.

 

"Shh, keep your voices down. Shiro's resting." The big one said.

 

I reached under the couch and pulled out my bundle of winter blankets. I tossed them to the big one and said, "Make yourselves comfortable. Just don't touch anything." I left to go to sleep outside. The door closed behind me just as I heard Lance muse, "What's his problem?"

 

I slept on the porch, thinking of Shiro. I was blessed enough to have him returned to me, but what if he wasn't the same? He just crash-landed in a strange alien pod from outer space. Who knew what happened to him that resulted in the need for a prosthetic.

 

When the sun began to rise, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped and whipped around to find Shiro sitting down with me, an amused look on his face.

 

"Easy, tiger." He chuckled. The joy of hearing his voice was more prominent than the pain of hearing him use that old nickname. He kept his hand, his human one, on my shoulder as we talked.

 

"What are you doing out here? You should be at the Garrison. Are you on summer vacation?"

 

"Nah, I left."

 

"What?"

 

I laughed at his horrified expression, but he didn't say anything more about it. His face turned soft, and he asked, "How's Adam?"

 

I hadn't even thought about Adam.He was so upset after the disaster, and I'd screamed at him. I wished I could've been kinder, especially since that was the last time we ever saw each other.

 

I think Shiro understood that there wasn't much to say because he started to hum to himself. It was an old tune I vaguely remembered but couldn't place a name on. For the first time in a long time, I was happy. I missed him more than I could bring myself to admit. But I wanted to say something. I turned to him, took a deep breath and-

 

"Hey, Keith, what's up with your funky mood board?"

 

Shiro looked up at Lance with a grin. "A funky mood board?"

 

As I grumbled about not having a funky mood board, I helped him to his feet and guided him over to and inside the shack. It was very crowded, but all five of us were able to gather around my cork board where I had pictures of the cave carvings pinned up. I briefly explained my findings to them.

 

"You don't know what they mean?" Shiro murmured, "Figures, you've never been very good at Pictionary." That got a laugh from Lance, but the other two- Pidge and Hunk- were digging through Pidge's bag. They eventually pulled out a little sheet of paper. It was a line graph with dips and rises that seemed familiar. I stared at it for a moment before grabbing the paper and comparing it to my photo of the landscape where the caves were. They matched flawlessly.

 

I can barely remember the events that followed. As I guided Shiro and the cadets to the cave, Pidge blabbered on about the alien space chatter she'd been hearing. It was a lot more interesting than the hair care routine Lance insisted he had to walk me through. I was surprised when he was the one who unlocked the secret of the cave and what it was hiding.

 

A blue lion. Bigger than any Garrison aircraft I'd ever seen and guarded by a strong forcefield. I kicked it, I punched it, I did all I could to break it down, but nothing worked. Lance stepped forward, his face illuminated by the blue light and said, "Maybe all you have to do is knock."

 

It worked.

 

We flew to a planet hundreds of solar systems away, awoke two aliens from a ten-thousand-year-long slumber and pledged ourselves to become defenders of the universe as paladins of Voltron. At the time, I had no idea what this would entail, but now I regret taking that pledge. I regret everything that was included with that promise.

 

The thing I regret most from my time in space was Lance. We were seventeen, we were touch-starved, we were desperate, and somehow we found solace in each other.

 

My first time with him was beautiful. One second we were bickering in his room and the next I was taking off my shirt while he worked at shimming down his jeans. The heat shared between us was a substitute for the desert sun I craved. His hands were warm as they ran from my shoulders to my hips and his lips tickled like sand. No words were exchanged. It just happened.

 

It happened again the next night. And the night after that. It continued until I started to question why our relationship had never extended outside of his bedroom. In diplomatic meetings, I would reach out to take his hand, but he would flinch away. He continued to tease me for my hair, which he just loved to run his fingers through while we kissed. And he would flirt. Mostly with Allura, but with other alien girls too. It hurt because I admired him. More than admired, really. I think I loved him the same way my father loved the Marfa lights.

 

One night, maybe four or five weeks into our nightly endeavours, I stopped him when we were still in our underwear. I reached a hand up to push a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

 

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. His hands were on my hips, his eyes didn't mine, "You don't love me so why are you doing this?"

 

"Well, it's not like you love me so what's the harm?"

 

The harm was already done. That night, our last night together, was the only time I ever had to hold back tears with him.

 

I went back to my room feeling unclean. I scrubbed at my skin in the shower until I bled and sat there under the cooling spray until the castle's lights came on, signifying the new day.But I stayed in my bathroom, overwhelmed by sadness. The promise of tomorrow didn't bring me as much hope as it used to.

 

All my life, there was always anger. Anger for the women that called my father a scoundrel, for the fires that stole my childhood, for the Galra that mutilated Shiro. I wanted myself to be angry with Lance, I imagined myself marching into his room and kicking his face until his perfect teeth were chipped and his bright blue eyes were swollen, but all I felt for him was love. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. The only reason I didn't throw myself to my altar and pray for us is that I knew that my efforts would be unprofitable. No power could bring us together.

 

Things continued without disturbance. We started wars- too many, so many that my hands could never feel clean of the blood we shed without reason- we ended them. Our team grew closer until we were something akin to a family, but I could never get close to Lance. We'd bicker back and forth, spar with every ounce of ruthlessness within us and never spoke of what we did on those nights.

 

Shiro understood my sadness and made sure I wasn't left alone with my thoughts. Every Tuesday night, he would creep into my room, carrying two cups of tea, and we would talk. He mostly spoke about Adam.

 

"Out of everything and everyone on Earth, I think I miss him the most." He said one time.

 

I never talked about Lance, but I told him about my time alone in the desert. I missed hearing the whipping of the wind and the silent company of vultures. I missed beer and the porch and finding bags of dried herbs in unexpected places.

 

I never thought I would find my way back to my father, but I did, in a way.

 

It started with the discovery of my heritage. It didn't surprise me that Dad found love in an alien woman, but I was ashamed that the woman was Galran. The Blade Of Marmora made sure to tell me that there was a definite possibility that she wasn't one of Zarkon's followers and even suggested that she could've been a Blade herself, but it still hurt. I wasn't human. At least it explained why I was always different from the other kids at school. I knew my teammates thought my heritage was shameful, so I distanced myself from them by temporarily joining the Blade. It was different from being paladin, but it allowed me to forget about Voltron.

 

Things changed three months in. While eating in the mess hall, I heard her name. I froze, prompting confusion from the Blades I was with, before bolting up. My food abandoned, I strode up to Krolia and Vrek.

 

They were surprised to see me, and I was embarrassed by how I had to crane my neck to look at Kolivan.

 

"How do you know about Krolia?" I demanded.

 

His brow furrowed, "I know every Blade who has ever fought alongside me, how could I not know of Krolia?"

 

My confusion only grew, "But she... she's a goddess."

 

Vrek laughed and gave my shoulder a pat, "Poor child. Krolia is no goddess. How could one so ruthless and fierce be something so holy?" He walked away, still chuckling to himself.

 

Kolivan sighed and invited me to sit with him. I sat across from him with my elbows poised on the table.

 

"Krolia is no goddess, Keith, she is but a Blade." He explained, "I'm surprised you have not met her, she is usually quite keen to train new recruits."

 

"Where is she?"

 

"Spying on Warlord Ranveig, which leads me to our next topic."

 

Kolivan instructed me to go on a solo mission to infiltrate the base of Ranveig, where I was to extract her and together we would destroy the mysterious weapon kept there. I was anxious to meet her. The intergalactic connection between her and Dad was almost unreal. Even if there was nothing and this Blade just happened to share a name with a goddess, I still wanted to believe there was something more.

 

Krolia, it turns out, was my mother. She informed me of this after she risked our entire mission just for my life. I was confused, why would she go against the Blade's motto of "Knowledge or Death" for a stranger? Suddenly her protectiveness made sense, and I found myself holding back tears. There was no time for crying, not when we had to make it through the Quantum Abyss to safety.

 

Although we had a rocky beginning, I found myself growing closer to Krolia as we shared memories together in the Abyss. I saw her and Dad as a young couple very much in love, I saw how she loved me and left a familiar knife for me before departing from Earth.

 

"The knife," I said as I pulled it from my belt, "it was your's all along."

 

"I'm glad it's served its purpose and kept you safe here." She smiled slightly, "I'm surprised your father allowed you to become a paladin. He was so protective of you when you were little."

 

I felt my heart shatter and I curled into myself so I wouldn't have to look at her. She didn't know. Krolia didn't know about the fire.

 

"He, uh, he died," I said.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"My father," I said, clearer now, "He died. Our house caught fire and he, uh, he died getting me out." I lifted my head and looked at Krolia. Her lips were pulled tight and her eyes were shut.

 

"As I said, he was protective of you."

 

Krolia and I danced around each other for a while. We hunted together, we ate together, but as night fell, I would sleep and watch through blurred vision as she wandered out to the forest. Some nights I would hear her screaming and hacking at trees with our blade but sometimes I would hear her crying. I wanted to help her the way Kara and Leah helped me, but I never wanted to overstep any boundaries. We had boundaries that no other mother and son had.

 

As time passed, I began to understand why my father recognised her as a goddess. She always placed the bigger slice of meat on my plate, even when food was scarce and servings became smaller. When it became colder, and I fell sick and unable to keep down any food, she never left my side. She didn't hunt either.

 

"If my boy doesn't eat then neither do I." She said, although her stomach growled and groaned like a beast.

 

When we found Kosmo, injured and weak, she believed that it would be best to just put him out of his misery until I argued that it would be kinder to nurse him back to health. She immediately agreed and carried him back to our little hut. Together, we helped him rebuild himself, and we were rewarded by his loyalty and compassion. Kosmo was a fierce protector and aided us in hunts.

 

When we finally passed through the Quantum Abyss, now accompanied by Romelle from an Altean colony, I saw the Voltron team for the first time in two years. For them, it had been no longer than a month, so they were confused by my growth. Hearing Lance call me "older and grizzled" sparked some strange feeling in me. I missed our bickering so much. I couldn't help but think about all the time he must have spent with Allura while I was with the Blade.

 

But there were more urgent matters to attend to so my heartbreak was a second priority. It was a lesser priority for many, many years.

 

When we returned home to Earth, Lance and Allura grew closer. They started to date. They held hands and kissed and said: "I love you." I said I was happy for them, but I couldn't have been angrier. Not at them but with fate. Why did Lance love her and not me? What was so wrong with me that he couldn't love me back? I distanced myself from my teammates during our visit on Earth, but it continued when we went back to space. We were trying to finish a war, that should've been at the forefront of my mind, but instead, I kept on thinking about Allura and Lance. They were perfect, they were so happy, but they felt wrong together.

 

But in the end, I wish fate had been kind enough to keep them together.

 

Allura's death was hard for us all, but it hit Lance the hardest. He could never forget her sacrifice because every time he looked at his reflection, he would see the blue Altean markings Allura passed to him with a solemn kiss. I could see how upset he got when anyone pointed them out and how he began to pull away from life as I had.

 

He bought a farm in the country and stayed there. Alone. Every first Friday of the month, Lance would send the same email to Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, Coran and I. The same halfhearted"I'm happy here" and depressing "I have the juniberries for company." It became so concerning that I tried reaching out to him. I would text, I could call, I even sent a postcard. The postcard was the only one that got a reply, but it wasn't a real one, it was just the same card with a big "RETURN TO SENDER" stamp inked onto the back. I shredded the postcard up and dropped the remains out of my Garrison room windows.

 

I was back to living in the Garrison because I had no place left to go. I was grateful for them allowing me to stay, but I was beginning to get sick of the orange and white walls. My room was small, hardly larger than the one I had as a cadet, and it was starting to feel suffocating.

 

One day I had a brilliant idea. I waited until Shiro was done with his meeting with the Atlas crew before handing him a backpack.

 

"What's this?" He asked with a quirked eyebrow.

 

"Camping stuff." I said, "Come on, let's head out to the desert and spend the weekend there like we used to. Maybe there's still some messages in bottles to find."

 

Shiro looked less than impressed, but once we saw my saddened expression, he smiled sadly and handed the bag back to me.

 

"I'm sorry, Keith," He said, "but don't you think we're a bit too old for that now?"

 

Too old for adventures in the desert? He loved our expeditions. I watched as he walked down the hall to the crew waiting for him. A few of them looked back to me in confusion, but Shiro pushed them onward with a laugh. I saw his lips twist into the words that made my heart sink.

 

_Don't worry, he's no one._

 

I headed out of the Garrison and took the next bus into the city. It was wrecked during the Galra invasion, but people were steadily getting back onto their feet. It was strange to look up at the sky and not have the view ruined by skyscrapers. However, the sky was grey that day, and I took that to be a bad sign. I headed to Kara and Leah's apartment complex with a heavy heart.

 

As I turned the corner into their block, I was shocked to see that the complex was gone. It was just a pile of rubble sectioned off by a chainlink fence. I ran up to it for a closer look and noticed the bundles of flowers and photos of residents tied to the barrier. I saw Mr Graham's face, Ms Brown and her daughter, and then Kara and Leah. It was their wedding photo.

 

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around, I came face to face with a woman. Her eyes were golden.

 

"Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and quiet, "Did you live here?"

 

"I- yes." I pointed to the photo of Kara and Leah with a trembling finger, "I lived with them. They were my foster mothers."

 

She nodded slowly and patted my shoulder, "I'm sorry. Do you have anyone else?"

 

I paused to think and realised, no, I don't have anyone else. Krolia, Kosmo and Kolivan were in some far off galaxy, the paladins ditched me, Shiro decided I was insignificant. And my father was dead. I turned back to gaze at the photo. I was never able to thank them for their kindness or apologise for my sudden leave, but I knew that they would've laughed it off and invited me for a catch-up.

 

I turned back to the woman, but she was gone. Where she stood, there was only sand.

 

I ran back to the desert. My feet pounded against the city cement, and I barely noticed the change when I got to the dirt road leading to the Garrison. I didn't look at it as I passed by, I just kept my eyes on the sun and how it was slowly creeping towards the horizon. There's always the promise of tomorrow, that's what he said. The sun would set and rise, and life would continue. But I was alone.

 

I felt the change between the desert and The Desert. My emotions were amplified tenfold, and I stopped only to chuck away my bag, shoes and socks. I felt more connected to the land like this, with nothing weighing me down. There were no eagles soaring or coyotes lurking, it was just me and the sand and the sun.

 

I looked for my home, but I couldn't find it.

 

I can't find it.

 

I've been standing in the desert, facing east where I know my home should be but there's nothing. No skeleton, no shack, no nothing. Just endless sand. I stand still, feeling the chill of darkness settle, with tears running down my face.

 

I don't know where I am anymore.

 

I get to my knees and bury my face in my fists. I scream. I'm lost. I miss Dad, Krolia, Kara and Leah. I miss Shiro, the Paladins, the Blades. Why am I stuck here while they've moved on? Why am I here, alone in the desert?

 

A name rises in my throat. At first, I can only whisper it. Names are dangerous and powerful, they should only be uttered with warning. But I don't care anymore. I'd do anything to be with my family. I call her name out louder this time and look up at the sky. I scream her name over and over again and, as the sky turns black, a storm picks up. Dust swirls around me, whistling angrily and catching in my eyes. And suddenly it settles.

 

She wears a necklace of milk teeth and a hat woven with abandoned dreams. Her eyes are lined with the tears of the innocent, and her skin is embroidered with the gold of hearts. Her name is Deja, and I was never supposed to meet her.

 

"Son of Kogane." Her voice is honey sweet, and she reaches down to caress my cheek. Her hands are cold, "Your father's heart aches."

 

"Please," My words come out choked and shaky, "bring me to him. Bring me home."

 

In the distance, I hear the cry of a quail. Deja smells of the beer I drank so long ago. She raises her hand, and I rise with it, not wanting to lose her touch. Her lips are thin and cracked. There are pink lipstick marks on her cheeks.

 

"Your father begs for you to stay, but there is nothing left for you in this life." She says, "You know what you want, don't you, Son of Kogane?" I nod.

 

"You bring lost souls back to their families." I say, "That's all I want."

 

She closes her eyes, and her white eyelashes flutter gently. "Your father fights against it. He says that he loves you." She places a hand on her chest and clutches her sandy skin, "I fear that taking you will do more harm than good."

 

"I just want to be with my dad."

 

"But he doesn't want you. Not yet, he says."

 

I wipe the tears from my eyes and take a few moments to breathe.

 

"So what... what am I supposed to do?"

 

She opens her weepy eyes and says, "Know that you are loved in every reality."

 

"Just not this one?"

 

She shakes her head, and the desert shakes with her. She kisses my forehead so softly I'm not sure it's even real.

 

And then I die.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: animal death, vivid nightmares.

 

My father did not sugarcoat death. From a young age, he taught me what it meant to wither and where we would go after.

 

"Well," He said one day, "our bodies stay here, but our souls go to a wonderful place."

 

I poked a curious finger at the still moth on the flooring of our little house. "A wonderful place?"

 

Dad scooped the moth up with his big hands and took me outside to the hot desert. I knew not to look at the sun directly but I did it anyway. He knelt down at the foot of the big tree a few yards from our house, and I sat with my legs in a basket.With the little creature safely deposited onto an exposed root, Dad began to dig a small hole with his thumbs. It was easy work.

 

"Yeah, a wonderful place where it's always breakfast and the sun is always risin'." That sounded good. I loved breakfast, especially when we fried sausages and ate sunny side up eggs. Other times we ate porridge and oats, but boring foods like those wouldn't belong in a wonderful place.

 

I reached out to the moth again, but Dad caught my hand. He gave me his left hand so I could play with his fingers, and he used his right to perfect the sandy hole.

 

"When you go there, Keith, you'll meet every firefly you ever loved and all the trees you stopped to climb. All the rocks you turned, all the birds you fed, they're all waitin' there for you." There was a wobble to his voice, the one that was only there when he talked about the goddess Krolia. I watched him bring the limp moth to his chest and mumbled an eternal rest along with him. He placed it in the ground ever so gently and filled it up again with sand. I understood the demonstration and smiled. Dad made death seem like a beautiful and sacred thing.

 

This is not a wonderful place. The white that whirls around me has no loving embrace, it just howls and screams with the agony of damned souls. It gathers all around me, rising rapidly from my waist to my neck. I shake in the biting cold and whisper the few holy words my numb brain can remember.

 

There are no fireflies or trees, no fried sausages and sunny side up eggs. Did he lie to me? No, no, he would never do that. I must be in hell. I weep as two blurry figures approach. The devil and his hound. Dad must be so disappointed. Did he know I would end up here? Did he know that I was a sinner?

 

The white numbs me further, and I drift in and out of consciousness. I'm pulled by my ankles into darkness, and then hands grab at my throat, pulling me back into the light. I see the dark and curious eyes of a dog and then dream of them multiplying into a hundred eyes that stare down at me. Teeth chatter against each other, and I hear the clattering amplified in my mind. Full sets of fangs clamp down onto my limbs. They gnash at me messily, each set pulling me in different directions, into different nightmares. I feel my body- my real, physical body- being jostled around. There's a voice, a voice from below me. I hope it's my father's. And there's crunching. _The crunching of bones_ , a negative voice in me supplies.

 

I jump with a gasp when I'm suddenly thrown into reality. And onto a bed. There's a hand on my forehead. I scream at the warmth of it.

 

"He's freezing. Get a blanket!"

 

"Sit down, Adam. You look petrified."

 

These voices are from mouths close to me, but there are also ones further away. Mere whispers in the distance.

 

"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead."

 

"Eternal rest, grant unto him, O Lord..."

 

"Shut his eyes now."

 

I keep my eyes wide open, I force them open with my trembling fingers. Grey figures rush in the outskirts of my vision, hurriedly going back and forth, back and forth, and then stumbling to a stop. I keep my eyes on the ceiling and the wooden beams that support it. This is different from before. I've been moved.

 

But who moved me is a question I don't have the energy to find an answer to. I'm not dragged into dreams, instead someone gentle and kind takes my hand and leads me to a golden light. They kiss my forehead and rumble "sleep easy" in a gruff voice.

 

I sleep for a long time. I dream of a guitar being tuned and of captaining a bottled ship. I dream of Allura and her smile. I dream of the desert and the shack and the moth my father buried at the foot of the tree so very long ago. Is that moth still there? Did its soul go to a wonderful place? I dream of big grey wings lifting me off the ground to space, to the Castle of Lions, to Lance's room. I dream of his gentle touches and his love. I sleep peacefully, and when I'm torn from my mind to reality, I want to protest and cling onto the soft haze, but a gentle whistling noise quickly gets my attention.

 

I crack open my eyes and flinch at the light coming from above me. It's coming from a big window that shows that the white from earlier is still out there. I must be safe here if the white is out there. I follow the line of light to the man lying beside me, and I don't know whether to smile or cry. The last time I saw Adam Wyatt alive, I screamed at him. The next time I saw him, he was a corpse burned to the crisp, the only defining features left being his obnoxiously crooked teeth.

 

His mouth is open now, letting whistling snores escape and giving me a full view of those teeth. The left canine that's slightly longer than the right one and the painful overcrowding at the bottom. I'm too tired to wonder why he never got braces. Instead, I reach out and touch his face. Adam grumbles and swats lazily at me before rolling onto his side. I stare at the back of his head for a long time.

 

If I'm here with Adam, then I must be dead. I was prepared for this reality, but it doesn't stop me from crying. I've always been an angry crier, the kind that sobs and bawls and screams, but now I can only snivel. It's pitiful how weak I feel and how hard my shoulders shake. I asked for this. This is what I wanted. Even if my father isn't here, at least Deja relieved me of my hellish life. I don't have to suffer anymore.

 

Just as I'm about to close my eyes again, I feel a hand on my shoulder. A big, warm hand that feels familiar. My heart jumps in my chest, and I bolt around onto my other side.

 

"Dad, I-"

 

But it's Shiro. My brother. He's dressed in pyjamas and has a pair of crooked glasses carefully balancing on the tip of his nose like they were hastily thrown on only moments ago. I'm taken back by his appearance. His hair is a dark brown, just like it was before he disappeared from Kerberos, and there's no scar on the bridge of his nose. He looks at me with wide, panicked eyes.

 

"No, it's me." He sits down on the side of the bed and takes my hand, "You're still so cold. What were you thinking of running away like that? You could've frozen to death."

 

"But I'm dead now."

 

Shiro looks down at his lap with a shaky sigh, "Don't say stuff like that. I couldn't live with myself if you died in such a horrible way. You scared all of us, Keith, please don't do anything so reckless again." He looks at me, and there are tears in his eyes, "Don't scare us again."

 

I find myself gazing out of the window, listening to Shiro's sniffling and hiccups and wondering what happened to me. I'm not dead, but I nearly was. I'm alive. I squeeze Shiro's hand and let my body unclench. I feel dumb for crying now.

 

A weight is lifted from the bed all of a sudden and Shiro drops my hand. He goes around to the other side of the bed and slots himself underneath the duvet, cuddling up at Adam's side. It's been so long since I saw them together, it reminds me of a quieter time. It's like I'm a child again, still curious about the world and not yet tainted by war and death. I shut my eyes, listening to Adam's snoring and pretend that we're in their bed at the Garrison, where I would sleep after being jolted awake by nightmares of flames and ashy desert skies.

 

I fall back asleep, this time into a silent and black dreamland. It's one of those periods of sleep where I know I'll wake up refreshed and content. But the isolation kills me. Even in nightmares, I'm not alone, there's always some kind of horror chasing me. In these dreams, it's just me, and sometimes it doesn't even feel like _I'm_ there. It's like I have no body, I have no person, I just exist as a lone entity. They're worse than nightmares.

 

When I wake up again, there's movement. I'm on my left side, facing away from the wall and window. I can hear wooden floorboards creaking, the bubbling of a boiling kettle, muffled speech and... is that the stench of porridge I smell? I scrunch up my nose and groan. My head is pounding, but at least I feel warmer now. I try to make out what's going on further down the room, but a room divider covers most of my view. Underneath it, I see a pair of dark, bare feet coming out from a separate room on the left. I look up, and my stomach drops.

 

Lance. Lance McClain, the subject of all my explicit teenage dreams and the breaker of my heart. I still remember how his skin feels, how smooth his cheeks are, and how perfect they are for kissing. My cheeks heat up when he catches my eye.

 

"Keith!" He exclaims before yelling out over his shoulder, "He's awake!"

 

Lance pulls back the room divider and kneels down by the bed. He presses the back of his hand to my forehead, and I resist the need to lean further into the touch. Once his hand is pulled away, he cups my cheeks and asks, "Kiss?"

 

Without asking, I nod. He presses his lips to my forehead and then holds our faces together with a gentle sigh. Something about him is different. The last time I saw him, he was still grieving and broken over Allura’s death. Before she died, she transferred two blue marks underneath his eyes. Those marks are gone.

 

"You were out for thirteen hours, sleepyhead." He presses another kiss, a quick one this time, to my cheek, "I'm just so glad you're okay."

 

"There's some colour back in your face." I look up and blink.

 

"Mom." I squeak. The woman hums and sits down on the ground with Lance, her legs perfectly folded. She looks so different. Her purple skin is a warm shade of brown, her eyes dark instead of luminous yellow, and her facial markings replaced with two pinkish scars. She smiles at me and pinches my cheek gently.

 

"Yes, you're definitely looking better." She's in the light now, and I can see the slight undertone of gold in her eyes. There's something uncomfortably wrong about this place, at how my family are, but I feel loved. I haven't felt like this in a long time.

 

I decide to test how different this place really is and ask, "Where's Dad?"

 

"Don't worry, he's just getting some fresh air with Kosmo. And keep your voices down." She points behind me, "Adam is still recovering." I look over my shoulder and scoff. Adam is sprawled out on top of Shiro's chest, one of his legs sticking out from underneath the duvet, and one arm over Shiro's face. There's a patch of drool on his skin from Shiro's mouth. Gross. But Adam isn't shivering like before, and there's even a layer of sweat on the back of his neck.

 

"What happened to us?" I turn back to Krolia and frown, "The furthest back I can remember is the white stuff and the souls screaming." Lance looks at me like I'm spouting nonsense.

 

"The only things you remember are white and screaming? Like, at all?"

 

"No! I remember the Garrison and the war and the Blade and everything."

 

Lance and Krolia exchange a worried look. My heart thumps in my chest. What's wrong with them? Have they forgotten all about our lives?

 

"Keith, sweetheart," Krolia pulls the duvet up to my chest and cards her fingers through my hair, "I think you're still in shock. Get some more sleep, alright?" I take hold of her wrist, and she freezes.

 

"But I need to see Dad."

 

"You need to sleep." She narrows her eyes and snatches back her wrist.

 

"You don't understand. I need to see him!"

 

Lance puts a hand on my leg and says, "Hey, take it easy. You went through a lot out there, you need to recover."

 

The bubbling of the kettle gets louder. I can hear it shake like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

 

"I've waited years for this. Please, I have to see my dad!"

 

"Don't you remember what you did three days ago, Keith? How you, your dad and Kosmo walked through the snow together? You came home and showed me the squirrel bones you found."

 

"Snow? There's no snow in the desert."

 

The kettle is smacking against the hob. My ears are ringing, my head is spinning.

 

"Please, sleep. And don't yell." Krolia suddenly sounds desperate, "Your father will be home soon-"

 

The kettle screams, and so do I, "I need to see him!"

 

For a moment, I can't hear anything or see anything but the stitched detail on the room divider. I focus all I have onto the beige embroidery, the three dozen stitches that create a floral pattern, a pattern repeated over and over again. My attention is pulled away by the creaky opening of a door.

 

"Sorry we took so long." A voice, the perfect voice for late-night storytelling, calls out. Uneven footsteps cause the floorboards to moan, and a big leather jacket is tossed onto the room divider. It drapes wonderfully. "Kosmo was wantin' a right good sniff around."

 

I look up, already knowing exactly where those dark eyes would be. They light up when they meet mine.

 

"Keith!" He scrambles down onto his knees and lunges towards me. Krolia and Lance part to the sidelines.

 

"Dad?" I sniffle. He holds his arms out wide and grins.

 

"Feels like I haven't seen you in ages. Funny, huh?"

 

I launch myself at him, no longer holding back with the tears and wails. I sob into his shoulder and cling onto the back of his burgundy henley shirt with trembling fingers. He still smells of dried herbs and hot evenings. Everything else is abnormal and confusing, but he is just right.

 

"Thank you." I choke out. Not to him, but to Deja. I repeat it a hundred times, and Dad continues to hold me tightly.

 

"Easy, Tiger. You're safe here."

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! I worked super hard on this first chapter so I really hope you enjoyed it. Any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated, thank you!


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